


Haunted

by WolfenM



Series: Hidden Things [7]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Blood and Sand, Spartacus: War of the Damned
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Drug Use, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Families of Choice, Grief/Mourning, Hallucinations, Introspection, M/M, Missing Scene, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfenM/pseuds/WolfenM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(NOTE: The Major Character Death is just a memory of a canon death.)  Memories of a lost loved one haunt Agron, interfering with his ability to fight when the rebels take the city -- and increasing his fear of losing Nasir ....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> **Summary** : Memories of a lost loved one haunt Agron, interfering with his ability to fight when the rebels take the city -- and increasing his fear of losing Nasir ....  
>  **Relationships Featured:** Romantic: Agron/Nasir. Friends: Light Agron/Crixus and Agron/Spartacus  
>  **Notes:** Exclusively Agron's POV. This fic is some missing moments from "Kill Them All" and "Wolves at the Gate", as well as introspection during scenes in the ep, and close-ups of background moments. While it's part of the Hidden Things series, it can be read without reading any of the other installments. Also, the drug use is accidental, if that matters to anyone. XD  
>  **DISCLAIMER:** Agron, Nasir, Donar, Lugo, Naevia, the aedile, and the depiction of Spartacus, Crixus, and Gannicus as in the _Spartacus_ series, as well as Agron's line from "Wolves at the Gate", "I can take him," all © Starz. This is just fanfiction, not an official story for the series, and no profit is being made by the author.

C===]=============>  
Kneeling in the thirsty sand, cradling Duro, Argon felt his brother's wound as if it were his own, a world-ending blow to the gut. He wished it _was_ his wound, desperately prayed he could still somehow take it upon himself, make the current twisting of his insides be the fatal result of a blade rather than the savaging of his soul, if only it meant Duro would live. He had failed his younger brother now surely as as they had both failed their family. Now Agron had lost the only kin he'd had left.

It wasn't right.

They were supposed to escape together -- the whole point of aiding Spartacus was so that Duro would be _saved_ from a violent death in the arena! Was it always Duro's fate then, to be gutted upon the sand? No. Agron wouldn't allow himself to think that, to shirk responsibility or blame. He'd failed Duro -- and Duro had saved him.

He wished Duro hadn't.

His throat raw from venting his rage at deaf gods -- those of his own lands and of Rome both -- and a rock seeming to have lodged in his craw, Agron could only weep now over his brother's cooling frame, his tears, hot though they were, hastening the process. Every part of Agron was wracked with pain, as if his soul were being ripped from him, dragged off by his brother's departing shade -- yet was still anchored enough to be held fast to his own living corpse, stretched between realms.

He felt a presence behind him.

Agron didn't raise his head. If it was one of Glaber's men, his misery would be over in a moment. If it was someone else, he didn't care.

A rough hand came to rest on his shoulder. A friend, then, not a foe.

"If you are not here to slay me, leave me to fucking grief," he snarled without looking.

"You waste your brother's gift. Did he sacrifice himself for nothing?" Donar asked.

"Do they not mourn dead whence you hail from?" Agron spat.

"Mourning will not bring him back, but right here and now, it could kill _you_ , should enemy take advantage of inattention," Donar said with surprising gentleness.

"Then I would welcome enemy as honoured friend," Agron muttered.

Donar's voice hardened, as did his grip on Agron's shoulder. "You two made commitment together to end this house. Honour Duro's dying act by seeing promise through."

Agron looked down at his brother's empty eyes, chilled, grief threatening to fall anew, to wash away the blood before it could be drunk by the sand. As he closed them gently with his hand, he wondered: How could it be that these eyes would never see again, nor speak of his brother's love? How could it be that no laughter would spill from his smiling lips, nor even curses? Agron couldn't imagine, couldn't believe in, a world without a living, breathing Duro. He didn't _want_ it. But Donar was right -- Agron couldn't waste what his brother's life had bought him.

The realization numbed the pain enough for him to attempt to stand, even as he still cradled his baby brother close.

"No," Donar said, staying him. "You cannot fight whilst still carrying him, in either arms or heart."

"I will not leave his body behind!" Agron protested. He suspected that once they left, they could not return, that the arrival of more soldiers would make such impossible.

"His body is only flesh now!" Donar countered. "His soul has fled, and you cannot summon it back again! Lest you intend to use his flesh as _shield_ , let his body go, take up sword, and _live_ , as he wished you to!"

Agron hadn't thought it possible to feel any more shattered than he already did, but as he gently laid Duro's body on the ground, knowing he couldn't even give his sibling the warrior's burial he deserved, he felt as though his own supposedly still-living bones were made of ever-splintering glass. 

Kissing his brother's brow one last time, he took Duro's fallen sword in hand and, somehow, got to his feet, following Donar into the villa -- and the fray.

At the sight of the first living Roman, Argon's grief transformed into rage. Neither sex nor age mattered -- all Romans were sub-human, all of them were monsters to be eradicated. He wanted nothing more than the feel of Roman flesh and bone giving way under steel, and the sound of Roman terror leaking free as he did so. There was no world but for those sensations, and when the sounds of the Romans right in front of him stopped, ended along with their lives, his ears led him to another enemy, and another, until there was only one Roman left that was not already claimed by an opponent: the Dominus.

He tried to reach this last target, but a hand held him fast -- Crixus this time.

"He belongs to Spartacus," the Gaul chided.

It was like the Gual had broken a spell that was over Agron. Suddenly the anger was gone, leaving Agron painfully aware of the strain on his body and soul, the fire in his throat from his near-endless roaring. He saw a wine cup and, ignoring the blood upon it, hastily swigged half of its contents. He welcomed the numbness that followed, little as it was, uncertain how much was the result of the drink and how much was just that he no longer cared about anything.

Well, no, he did care about one thing: killing Romans. Two things -- honouring his brother's memory being the second, accomplished by doing the first. And that meant following Spartacus -- to the ends of the earth, if necessary. He started by following the man out the door.

"You leave me behind?" came Duro's voice behind him.

Agron turned, as he did every time save the actual night his brother had died. "I cannot change what I did then, brother. Donar's counsel made sense at time."

"Did he know me as you did?" Duro countered, blood spilling endlessly from his stomach.

"You saved me to live on, did you not?" Agron pleaded.

"I did not expect you would leave me to rot amongst our enemies! When battle was done, could you not have fetched me?"

Agron turned his face away. He'd told himself that new soldiers could arrive at any time, but the truth was, when he'd left that night, he'd feared going back would be his undoing, that he'd never look forward again, but instead would lie down beside Duro to die of a broken heart.

"Look at me!" Duro snapped.

Agron did, and found that he was again kneeling in the sand, with a lifeless Duro in his lap.

And then, suddenly, it wasn't Duro in his arms, but rather Nasir. "Look at me!" his lover demanded; Nasir's face was bloodied, his throat slit and body sliced to ribbons. Agron closed his eyes.

"LOOK AT ME!"

Agron felt a sudden sting in his cheek, his eyes snapping open.

Nasir -- hale and whole -- looked down at him, his beautiful features marred only by worry. "You dream again ... the same dream?"

"The same _nightmare_ ," Agron confirmed, pulling Nasir down and crushing his lips against those of the Syrian, needing to assure himself that his beloved was alive and safe, and that this was no dream.

He spent the entire morning confirming it.

C===]=============>  
It didn't bother Agron so much this time that he was being left behind to lead the troops -- he kept Nasir's words, the ones about how Spartacus trusted him to look after everyone, close to heart. It helped that Spartacus had praised him well last time for the diversion they'd provided then, and how few injuries or losses they'd suffered. Even so, part of Agron wished he could go with on this secretive mission, if for no other reason than that the wait, leaving ample time to consider how something could go wrong, threatened to drive him mad with worry. And not just because the fate of the rebellion could hang in the balance!

When Agron and Duro had been captured in their homeland, it was only after a harrowing battle, one in which he suspected most, if not all, of the rest of their family and friends had been killed. Then, mere months later, Agron had lost Duro, the last of his kin. Eventually, Agron had found a new family within the rebellion -- and then lost some of that new family as well. When the'd had a moment to breathe after Vesuvius, Agron had grieved for Mira as much as any of his blood kin. The idea of losing Spartacus, who had become an elder brother to Agron, filled him with dread second only to the potential loss of Nasir. Like Mira, Naevia had become as a sister. And while it took a very long time to get there, he'd even found a fondness for Crixus and Gannicus. And then there were the people from his homeland, all like cousins, as were others from different places. He didn't like the thought of losing _any_ of them, no matter how much he'd gotten used to such losses. So when Spartacus, Crixus, and Gannicus went off like this without him, Agron spent every second in quiet terror of losing still more family.

The other downside to being left behind was that Agron had to guess how to handle some problems and hope that none of his solutions proved a disappointment to their fearless leader. Agron had gotten better at being in command over the months, but there were still plenty of times when his ideas were shot down by Spartacus, and that fact shook his confidence when he was left alone. At least when he had Crixus to confer with, he had someone with whom to share the burden of leadership (and, well, blame, when things went badly).

On the upside, being left behind meant _not_ being separated from Nasir. And Nasir gave good counsel -- as did Naevia. They helped Agron deal with the constant complaints from the newer recruits -- and helped Agron keep his temper in check. So did the reminder Spartacus had given him about how they all were once like the newcomers. Watching Nasir and Naevia training others, seeing the pair's skills now and remembering how much less-skilled they had once been, helped as well. Even those who had joined their ranks shortly after Vesuvius, helpless as toddlers back then, showed promise now. Agron allowed himself a bit of pride in their progress, as well as hope that they would improve still more, with the newest of the lot eventually getting there as well. His family was growing, and with it, the odds of their survival improved. Maybe he could do right by them where he had failed Duro and his birth family ....

C===]=============>  
The rebel army left at the same time as Spartacus but moved much more slowly. Agron slowly spilt the army up along the way, leaving pockets of them with orders to resume their march a bit later. It wouldn't do to have the entire legion arrive en masse, alerting the city guard, much less any scouts! And really, the ones he left behind first, the newest and weakest, would hardly be missed, save for the few skilled warriors he left behind to protect them. They still had nearly half their army left by the time they drew near the city, lying low in a slight valley about two miles away from the gate.

Crixus returned early and filled them in on the progress that had been made with the blacksmith. This eased Agron's worries some on one front, but raised them on another: did Spartacus think Agron needed checking in on? Even that concern was eased some, though, when Crixus praised Agron for his organizational skills and the idea of spreading out the formation. "We won't need all hands to raid city -- best not to tax those less capable needlessly by hurrying them forward, or letting them get underfoot in battle. Good thinking -- Spartacus will doubtless be pleased by such caution."

If anyone had asked Agron a few short months ago if the opinion of Crixus meant anything to him, he would have laughed in their face. Now ... well, maybe he would still deny it, but who didn't valued _being_ valued? Besides, there certainly were worse men to have holding him in high regard, and not many better. Even if he wouldn't admit _that_ , either.

When the time drew near for the city to be taken, Agron worried again as he noted that the moon was out, the bright orb marking when they were supposed to attack. Nasir was of the same mind, giving voice to Agron's concern: the fact that the gate was still sealed. Crixus decided that they would attack regardless, a sentiment Agron could find comfort in: however small, there was at least some certainty and determination in acting rather than waiting and wondering. Where once he might have been irritated by Crixus giving him a command, Agron was now in agreement with him, following the order wholeheartedly.

Agron shared a quick look with Nasir, a thousand words exchange in a glance. Smiling grimly, and despite his concern over the gate, Nasir was clearly ready for the battle, clearly believed that they -- he and Agron, and Spartacus, and all their friends -- would be fine. Agron could also see that Nasir loved Agron -- and that Nasir knew that Agron loved him in return. The Syrian's confidence bolstering his own, Agron felt like he could face anything, so long as Nasir was at his side. His sense of purpose restored and focused, he set off to share his determination with their troops.

C===]=============>  
Finally, moments before Agron would have tried hacking or even shouldering his way through wood and metal, the gate began to rise. Agron, Nasir, and Crixus, at the head of the line, helped it along, the eagerness for battle lending them strength. Strangely, Agron was more at ease now. Better to stare Death in the face, see it coming, than wonder if it would stab you in the back. He knew he was a good fighter, had come through countless battles with hardly more than a scratch -- he had little to fear, especially now that he knew Spartacus and Gannicus had succeeded in their mission. It helped that Nasir had proved himself able to hold his own -- he didn't feel like he had to keep an eye out for the little man anymore, and between the pair of them, no one could sneak up on them. All they had to do now was put the Roman dogs within the city down.

It was easier said than done -- and not because any of the soldiers were skilled.

When Agron had fought at villas, freeing slaves, he'd fought mostly guards and the occasional Dominus. This battle was different. It was different from the horror of the burning arena, where Argon had still only fought soldiers. It was different form the battlefield -- again, where he'd fought only soldiers. He hadn't had so many ordinary, untrained Romans standing before him since the night Duro had died -- and many of these people were not nearly so finely dressed as the Roman citizens he'd seen back then. How could he even be certain that some of these were not simply freemen, or even slaves?

"Stop it!" he heard Nasir snarl at a man attacking a terrified young woman. "She poses no threat! We are not murderers!"

"It is not murder to kill vermin!" the rebel replied, ending the girl's screams by ending _her_. Others around them committed similarly brutal acts.

"They have gone mad!" Nasir growled, fighting off a new opponent -- a soldier.

"Perhaps, but then Romans have driven them to it," Agron replied, remembering how a Roman child had ended the life of Varro, or how he had witnessed even younger children mistreating slaves and participating in stonings. It was impossible to know who was truly innocent. Still ... "You and I shall focus on soldiers -- the sooner they are dealt with, the sooner Spartacus will call end to battle, and the greater chance innocents may be spared." 

Nasir nodded and doubled his efforts.

Shortly after, Agron encountered another problem. It started at first as just fleeting images out of the corner of his eye -- this person or that, fleeing or fighting, reminding him of Duro, or Nasir, of Naevia or other friends. It slowed his strikes as it took him a moment to sort out that his opponents were not, in fact, someone he knew. Despite his earlier resolve, he found himself checking over his shoulder, with growing frequency, to be sure that Nasir was alive and well -- which the Syrian always was. As they made their way, though, Agron started seeing the faces of those he cared about -- old and new -- amongst the fallen. A woman wailed over a child that looked just like one of his late kin. Duro lay in a pool of blood, eyes sightless, as a man wailed over the loss of him -- himself? Someone else?

Agron turned a corner and tripped over a familiar, dark-skinned, long-haired form.

"Nasir!" he cried out before his heart could lodge in his throat.

"What is it? Are you hurt?" came Nasir's voice -- from _behind_ Agron.

Agron turned, eyes verifying what his ears perceived. When he turned back to the body, he saw the differences between the fallen and his lover. "I ..." What could he say?

He was almost grateful when a new batch of soldiers attacked, robbing him of the chance to reply.

He did all right for the first few opponents, but then he turned on one and met a familiar pair of bright eyes.

"Would you be the one to strike me down now, brother?" Duro sneered.

Stunned, unsure of whether he dreamed or had gone mad, Agron lowered his spear, unable to bring himself to strike.

Unfortunately, Duro showed no such hesitation.

Luckily, Nasir didn't either.

Argon almost shoved Nasir aside after his beloved struck Duro down, almost cried out, just barely holding himself in check. When the body hit the ground, he saw that it wore a face other than Duro's, and let out a shaky breath.

"Are you all right?"

Nasir held Agron's shoulder in a grip of steel -- a grip Agron had come to know well, even if few would believe it of the little man. Agron was ready for the fighting to be over already, and these ... hallucinations? with it, so he could just lie in his lover's strong embrace, feel the solidness that was Nasir beneath him -- or above him. He wasn't particular, so long as his love was _alive_.

"I'm hale," Agron finally managed, "But nightmares haunt _day_ , now ...."

Wordlessly, Nasir embraced him, and Argon allowed himself to rest for a moment, knowing Nasir had the strength to support him. He wasn't worried about Nasir's ability -- the way Nasir suddenly slipped free of Agron to dispose of an assailant sneaking up on them proved that Nasir was more than capable. But even the greatest warrior could fall -- Spartacus proved that with Theokoles. And Agrorn realised _that_ was what had him so uneasy of late: they'd had so much good fortune, he was waiting for Fate's left hand to smack them down. That was just how the gods seemed to work -- they raised you up just so they could drop you. Agron didn't think he could handle losing Nasir like he'd lost Duro, and he feared that the greater Nasir's skills became, the greater the odds were that such would happen. After all, hadn't Duro markedly improved just before dying?

The visions faded back into fleeting glimpses in his peripheral, then stopped after that, but things didn't get any better for Agron as they fought on. He grew more and more jumpy, less surefooted, even clumsy, as he kept distracting himself with the effort of keeping an eye on Nasir. So unfocused, Agron almost lost a limb or an eye more than once. Happily, when they had a moment to catch their breath, Nasir proved still fine, worry yet unfounded.

"There is aedile!" Crixus cried just then, pointing to a fleeing figure. "He heads for grain warehouse!"

Agron hurried after the man, Nasir, and Crixus at his side, but other rebels continuously spilled into the walkway, enemies in hand. Agron and his fellow wolves howled for those before them to move, but many of their allies were too caught up in their own bloodlust to heed the demand.

By the time they reached the warehouse, the gates were locked, the aedile taunting the rebels. He would see the grain ruined, burned, before a slave-hand sullied it; if any of them tried to approach, he would drop his torch into a trail of tar at his feet, and the whole place would go up, probably taking the city with it. The aedile demanded to see the rebels' leader.

"What do we do?" Nasir asked.

"I will find Spartacus," Crixus sighed. "Make sure fools on _our_ side do not incite fools on _that_ side to follow through with threat."

Agron nodded, readying his spear. Frankly, he didn't think it wise to wait and give the aedile further opportunity to cause problems. Surely the enemies would surrender with the aedile dead? Relieved that the aedile's face did not remind him of Duro or even Nasir, Agron readied himself to rush at the gate and slip the weapon between the rebels while they hid him somewhat from view, or perhaps even just throw the spear.

He just needed to find his nerve again.

"I can take him," he told himself.

Spartacus chose just then to step up and demand the weapon.

Partially annoyed but also somewhat relieved, Agron obeyed, watching and waiting impatiently for Spartacus to deal with the situation.

When it was over, Agron found himself unable to cheer with the crowd -- not even with Nasir. There was still a lot of work to be done before they could rest -- clearing out bodies, cleaning up the warehouse of pitch, seeing if any of the grain was still salvageable, assigning squads to man the gate, determining quarters, preparing food -- and Spartacus wouldn't even let them kill any soldiers that might remain to harass them through it all! The notion of leaving men alive who might kill them later ruined any thought of peaceful rest later. For that matter, after how easy it had proved to be to take it, Agron wasn't so sure now that the city would be that easy to _hold!_

He reached out for Nasir, though he couldn't say if the act was meant simply to get his love's attention or reassure himself that the man was still there, safe and sound. In any case, Nasir followed, his comforting hand at Agron's back helping to steel the former gladiator for the tasks ahead.

C===]=============>  
Argon's mood was cheered some when he'd determined that they hadn't lost any friends that battle.

Apparently satisfied that Agron was also well (at least physically), Nasir, thankfully, didn't question him about what happened during the battle -- the Syrian, Argon was sure, would wait for Agron to broach the subject when he was ready, in the privacy of their own tent (or, he supposed, quarters, now that they could have their pick of the city). Agron was glad for Nasir's consideration, embarrassed over his failures on the field.

A few hours later, it was a hard choice between sleep and eating, but as the growl of their stomachs promised to keep them up, they opted to eat first. They found their favourite cook, best in the army camp, in the aedile's kitchen, preparing a vat of soup. Agron reached for mushrooms in a bowl, catching the cook's attention in tbe process.

"Wait!" she cried, whacking his hand with a ladel.

Argon scowled at the woman, nursing his hand. "All you had to do was say not to touch!" he protested.

"Shhhh!" she admonished, holding up a mushroom. After studying it a moment, her eyes flew open wide, and she whirled on a boy helping her, smacking him to the floor. "How many times do I have to tell you, these are the _poisonous_ ones! These go to the medicus, not me!"

"You give the medicus _poison?_ " Nasir asked, looking confused and more than a little wary of the woman.

"In very small doses, they can numb pain, and priests use them to commune with the gods," the woman shrugged, going back to her work cutting vegetables. 

"Commune with the gods?" Agron asked, eyeing the bowl suspiciously.

"They grant visions, but can be tricky to work with," the cook elaborated. "Sometimes they work quickly, sometimes they take hours, sometimes days, sometimes they work on and off .... Also, they can drive a man mad, strike fear into his heart where there is none to be had, eat at his skills and reason, and make it impossible to tell what is real and what is not ...."

"You had some mushrooms like that when we ate last, did you not?" Nasir asked Agron, looking worried.

"I, ah, snuck _one_ , yes," Agron admitted, relieved that he hadn't taken more -- and that Nasir had proven uninterested in having any. At least Agron knew now that the mushrooms were responsible for his strange visions, deteriorated skill, and near-paralysing fear during the battle! Well, so he hoped ....

"Serves you right for filching," the cook chastised. "Promise it won't happen again, or I'll ban you from my kitchen!"

Agron knew he would still have nightmares, and still worry for those he loved, but in swearing off unapproved mushrooms, hopefully he could at least avoid facing his minds horrors when his eyes were _open_. He readily agreed.

As if in reward, the next time he slept, he dreamt simply of lying contented in Nasir's arms -- just the way he had fallen asleep.

~FINIS~

**Author's Note:**

> End notes: Wow, they didn't give me a lot to work with in "Wolves at the Gate" did they? ;P So I thought this would be a good time to explore Agron's state the night Duro was killed. Hope you didn't mind!
> 
> ###########  
> If you've enjoyed my writing, I invite you to explore my original fantasy storyverse, [Gaiankind](http://gaiankind.com)! You can even find Gaiankind stories for free [here](http://archiveofourown.org/tags/Gaiankind) on AO3!


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